Death Is My BFFLAD (Book Two Original Series)

Chapter 8: Chicken Feet

~And everything you love, will burn into the light. ~And everytime I look into your eyes. You make me want to die.~Taste me, drink my soul. ~Show me all the things that shouldn't know, when there's a new moon in the rise. ~I would die for you, my love. I would steal for you, my love.

It's funny how after a while, you get to know a person so well, that you know when something is wrong with them. You can tell when they aren't feeling well, when their sad, when they're angry, when they're happy.

But then there are those times when you have no idea who the person is because they change in an instant. Like  a light switch being turned on, the person could become distant—seem distant, strangely cold or even...

Evil.

It was like an outer wall around the man that cloaked himself, a barrier between his bubbly, sarcastic personality and who he truly was, a monster. And that barrier had somehow been cracked, allowing the interior of him to show as I stared at him across the taxi car.

There was something terribly different about Death.

After he slammed the door shut he turned the rear view mirror around, grabbed the back of the taxi's driver neck, and spat out, "Drive until I tell you otherwise, human, or I'll cut you into slivers and sprinkle you from the sky," and sat on the opposite seat as myself with his arms over his chest, his back against the window, and his head aimed at me, dangerously low.

From my viewpoint behind the passenger seat I could see the taxi driver's eyes were clouded over, distant.

With a small tremble averted my gaze back to the hooded man to my left who was looking out the back window now, his legs cramped in the small area and his large boots resting by my feet. My eyes were drooping I was so tired but I was determined to find out what was wrong with him.

"What's wro—"

He whipped his head to me. "Shut your mouth."

My eyes went a little wide at that remark. "Fine."

Death moved his feet a little as if he was uncomfortable and aggressively squeezed the back of the driver's chair, his head tilted to the side, back against head window. He suddenly put his hands to his face and leaned forward.

"God damnit!" Death roared out. Thunder pounded against the air in the distance, startlingly loud as he let out the dirtiest formation of words I had ever heard. He then he continued to mutter words under his breath,

"Aliquam erat volutpat."

By the time he stopped chanting, I was pressed against the door of the taxi in fear of what was happening to him—what would happen to me.

After what seemed like forever of the tires bumping gently against the asphalt I opened my mouth to ask him if he needed help. "Do—"

He held a gloved finger up.

"Don't talk to me," he said sharply. "Just don't talk. You're... making it much worse."

"What worse?" I instinctively asked before I could stop myself. "Sorry."

"I'm so hungry, I have a throbbing headache, I'm hot as hell," he whined in a deep, almost deflating tone. "I just want..." He let out a rumbling sigh and  lifted his head a little as if thinking up an idea. "Come over here."

"No," I said without any hesitation.

He growled under his breath. "No?"

 My fingers grazed the lock of the door and I debated whether to jump from the car, the air was filling with so much tension, so much...